As woonce the zun, a-rollen west,
Did brighten up his hill's high breast.
Wi' walls a-looken dazzlen white,
Or yollow, on the grey-topp'd height
Of Paladore, as peaele day wore
Away so feaeir.
Oh! how I wish'd that I wer there.

The pleaece wer too vur off to spy
The liven vo'k a-passen by;
The vo'k too vur vor air to bring
The words that they did speak or zing.
All dum' to me wer each abode,
An' empty wer the down-hill road
Vrom Paladore, as peaele day wore
Away so feaeir;
But how I wish'd that I wer there.

But when I clomb the lofty ground
Where liven veet an' tongues did sound,
At feaeir, bezide your bloomen feaece,
The pertiest in all the pleaece,
As you did look, wi' eyes as blue
As yonder southern hills in view,
Vrom Paladore--O Polly dear,
Wi' you up there,
How merry then wer I at feaeir.

Since vu'st I trod thik steep hill-zide
My grieven soul 'v a-been a-tried
Wi' pain, an' loss o' worldly geaer,
An' souls a-gone I wanted near;
But you be here to goo up still,
An' look to Blackmwore vrom the hill
O' Paladore. Zoo, Polly dear,
We'll goo up there,
An' spend an hour or two at feaeir.

The wold brown meaere's a-brought vrom grass,
An' rubb'd an' cwomb'd so bright as glass;
An' now we'll hitch her in, an' start
To feaeir upon the new green cart,
An' teaeke our little Poll between
Our zides, as proud's a little queen,
To Paladore. Aye, Poll a dear,
Vor now 'tis feaeir,
An' she's a longen to goo there.

While Paladore, on watch, do strain
Her eyes to Blackmwore's blue-hill'd plaein,
While Duncliffe is the traveller's mark,
Or cloty Stour's a-rollen dark;
Or while our bells do call, vor greaece,
The vo'k avore their Seaevior's feaece,
Mid Paladore, an' Poll a dear,
Vor ever know
O' peaece an' plenty down below.

THE BEAeTEN PATH.

The beaeten path where vo'k do meet
A-comen on vrom vur an' near;
How many errands had the veet
That wore en out along so clear!
Where eegrass bleaedes be green in meaed,
Where bennets up the leaeze be brown,
An' where the timber bridge do leaed
Athirt the cloty brook to town,
Along the path by mile an' mile,
Athirt the yield, an' brook, an' stile,

There runnen childern's hearty laugh
Do come an' vlee along--win' swift:
The wold man's glossy-knobbed staff
Do h